


Don't Look

by Bluebird4



Category: Septiplier - Fandom, markiplier - Fandom
Genre: Angst, Blood and Torture, Character Death, Child Death, Child Murder, Dark, Fic, Kinda, M/M, Meh, Minor Violence, Murder, Non-Graphic Violence, Nonromance, Not Happy, Original Character Death(s), Sad, Sad Ending, Septiplier - Freeform, Some Romance, death everywhere, first, my
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-05-01
Updated: 2016-05-01
Packaged: 2018-06-05 15:37:52
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,308
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6710977
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Bluebird4/pseuds/Bluebird4
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Mark was forced to protect the witch's property from any trespassers. So when anyone got close, he would kill them. But what will he do when someone special comes too close. When something familiar calls him back. Will he be able to escape the witch? Or will he forever be under her spell?</p>
            </blockquote>





	Don't Look

Mark remembers how he died. How the child had tricked him into thinking she was lost and had led him to that witch. He despised that witch and her daughter. How he would love to murder them, but the spell cast over him forces his anger towards any trespassers in their property. He roamed the woods at night, where he watched for any prey who may be stupid enough to enter.  
If he had been his old self, he wouldn't ever think of killing, but he wasn't his old self. So he loved when he was able to dig his long nails into the young womans chest and stop her heart beat. To feel her shake violently until she finally stopped. When she was missing and people came to find her... It thrilled him to have a cop panic and shoot him once, twice, three times until he finally reach him.To hear his breath falter as his stomach empties through the slit Mark made. The memory of the other men screaming every time he broke their bones until their bodies were contorted into shapes impossible to the human body.  
Mark couldn't see. His eyes burned away during transition and now two dark holes remain. That didn't bother him as much now, to see is only a distraction. That's what the witch told him. 'Why need vision when your other senses work just as fine.' He hated that witch. One day he would kill her and her daughter in the most brutal way his new mind can think of.   
Now roaming the woods he hears someone crying. It was quiet and small. Fragile. It confused Mark for a second before he realized what it was. A child. A smile broke onto his face. Getting near he began to hear the cries become louder. Stepping on a twig, he heard the crying stop for a second.   
"Mommy?"  
It was a girl. Her voice so small and sweet. Velvety with innocence and purity. Stepping to where he knew she would spot him he waits until he heard her gasp. She began to cry again. He imagined the blood covered cloth over his eyes only frightened her more than she already was. He was still smiling as she continued crying and calling for her mother.   
"Hush child, your mother isn't here."  
She whimpered as he got closer to her. He set his pale hand on top of her head and slid it down to her cheek.   
"Where's mommy?"  
He smiled. How naive. He imagined how devastated her mother might be, not knowing where her child might be. And here the girl was, with tears trailing down her cheek and onto his hand.   
"She left you."  
She began crying harder as he felt more tears landing on his hand. It was so easy.   
"Hush, hush. There's no use crying."  
"But I want my mommy..."  
How hopeless her voice was. Strained and stressed.   
"Hush. Perhaps you'll come with me. Until your mother's return."  
He felt her head nod. With the smile that never left his face he reaches for her hand. And begins to lead her towards the the small cabin the witch had left him. Her hand was small and warm. Filled with trust that shouldn't be there. Mark would be worried for her if he wasn't himself, but that wasn't the case and he was excited. How would she die? How should she die?  
"What's your name?" She suddenly asked.   
"They call me Dark."  
"Who?"  
Mark squeezes her hand and growls low, his hatred rising higher than it should. Trying to control himself, forces his hand to relax. This little girl didn't need to know anything. If anything, Mark would rather she keeps her innocence intact.   
"A woman and her daughter. She's about your age."  
The girl was silent for a second before she asked, "What's her name?"  
"Tess." He didn't want to talk about them. He knew he would act horribly if he continued. "What's your name?"  
"Hope."  
How ironic. He couldn't help but let a small dry laugh escape his lips. Testing her name with his own mouth. Hope. This girl was led to the wrong fate and how sad it was. It was unfair, in the definition of a moral coward.   
They walked until they reached the cabin. It was abandoned with no sight of life anywhere. It felt empty, wrong and vile. How could it not when this was the location of Mark's death. He breathes in the cold air and smells the unpleasant odor of rotten wood. Not saying anything he leads her inside and sits her on a sofa he knew was there. He had gained her trust and now she had to suffer the consequences, but he decided that maybe he would give her more time. It wasn't a sign of mercy nor empathy. It was simply for the pleasure of having her trust him more.   
"Dark?"  
Mark hated that name. "Yes?"  
"Why are your eyes covered?"  
Mark smiled. This girl asked too many questions, but then again who wouldn't.   
"Because I don't have any eyes."  
It was silent for a while. He wondered if she was uncomfortable.   
"Is that why there's blood on your bandages?"  
She didn't sound frightened anymore. Instead she sounded sad, as if she pitied him. Mark didn't like that. He's not the one who should be pitied, she was.   
"Yes."  
"May I see?"  
Mark growled. "No."  
"Why?"  
She asked too many questions. Mark was going to tell her why until he found himself not knowing. Why couldn't she? It would be fun to scare her with his empty socket. To know that blood still lingered and acted like tears. Still he felt strongly that he could not allow her to see. To look into his eyes. How interesting. Rebelling over his own instinct, he pulls the cloth off his eyes and turns his head to where the girl should be. All at once he felt a sharp pain blast through his head as he saw a glimpse of an image of a girl. It was dark and foggy, barely enough to be considered a real vision. But there she sat, on a worn sofa. And then was he able to focus on her face. So chaste and clear with the hint of sympathy and fear laced in her features. Her hair stood with small curls so dark that it took all his concentration to make it out. Her color dark as well,looking as soft as her eyes. Everything about her was dark, all except for her spirit. She was innocent. And Mark saw that.   
It was shocking. How could he see her if he had no eyes? He wasn't able to see the witch or her daughter. He wasn't able to see the lady or the cop or the other men he killed. He saw no one but her. Hope. Confused and frustrated he began to yell and grabbed the nearest thing to throw. Anger filled him as he tried harder to comprehend what was going on. In the middle of his outburst he heard Hope cry and help but hesitate. Not wanting to scare her more, he closes his eyes and turns to her. He still sees her. Mark looks around and notices that he could only see anything that's around her. He's still blind unless she's there.   
"Dark?"  
He barely heard it, but she whispered his name as if she spoke any louder, the cabin would collapse. It made him feel guilty. Guilty. It made him feel. It was as if she gave him life once more. And not because she called out his new name, but because her voice was familiar. Although filled with fear he heard something else. Something he didn't like one bit. Hope. He would keep Hope, as ironic as it was.


End file.
